'Go head,' Eric said tightly.

'There is no Gino Molinari.'

Eric grunted. Good grief, he thought.

'All of them are robants. The healthy one who's on the video tape, the tired, sick one you've met, this dead one here in the casket – that somebody, possibly GRS Enterprises, engineered this to keep the 'Starmen from taking over our planet. So far they've made use of the ill one.' Festenburg gestured. 'And now they've hauled out the healthy one, made the first tape of him. And there may be more. Logically, why not? I've even tried to imagine what other alternatives might be like. You tell me. In addition to the three we know, what's left?'

Eric said, 'Obviously it leaves the possibility of building one with powers above the norm. Beyond the merely healthy.' He thought, then, of Molinari's recovery from one terminal illness after another. 'But maybe we have that already. Have you read the medical file?'

'Yes.' Festenburg nodded. 'And there's one very interesting .quality about it. None of the tests were conducted by any persons now on his medical staff. Teagarden didn't authorize any of them; the tests predate him, and as far as I know, Teagarden, like yourself, has never managed to subject Gino to even a cursory physical exam. Nor do I think he ever will. Nor do I think you ever will, doctor. Even if you're kept around here for years.'

'Your mind,' Eric said, 'is certainly hyperactive.'

'Am I a glandular case?'

'That has no bearing on the matter. But you certainly have spun a lot of ad hoc ideas out of your own head.'

'Based on facts,' Festenburg pointed out. 'I want to know what Gino is up to. I think he's one hell of a smart man. I think he can outthink the 'Starmen any day of the week, and if he had the economic resources and the population behind him that they have, he'd be in the driver's seat, no contest. As it is, he's in charge of one dinky planet and they have a system-wide empire of twelve planets and eight moons. It's frankly a wonder he's been able to accomplish all he has. You know, doctor, you're here to find out what's making Gino sick. I say that's not the issue. It's obvious what's making him sick: the whole darn situation. The real question is: What's keeping him alive? That's the real mystery. The miracle.'

'I guess you're right.' Grudgingly, he had to admit that despite his repellent qualities Festenburg was intelligent and original; he had managed to see the problem properly. No wonder Molinari had hired him.

'You've met the schoolgirl shrew?'

'Mary Reineke?' Eric nodded.

'Christ, here's this tragic, complicated mess, this sick man barely making it through the day with the weight of the world, of Terra itself, on his back, knowing he's losing the war, knowing the reegs are going to get us if by some miracle Lilistar doesn't – and in addition he's got Mary on his back. And the final blistering irony is that Mary, by being a shrew and simple-minded, selfish, demanding, and anything else you want to articulate as a basic character defect – she does have him on his feet; you've seen her get him out of bed and back into uniform, functioning again. Do you know anything about Zen, doctor? This is a Zen paradox, because from a logical standpoint Mary ought to have been the final straw that utterly destroyed Gino. It makes you rethink the entire role of adversity in human life. To tell you the truth, I detest her. She detests me, too, naturally. Our only working connection is through Gino; we both want him to make it.'

'Has she been shown the video tape of the healthy Molinari?'

Festenburg glanced up swiftly. 'A wise thought. Has Mary seen the tape? Yes, maybe or no – check one. Not to my knowledge. But if you suppose my alternate-present theory, and that it's not a robant on that tape, if it's a human being, that magnetic, fire-eating, striving demigod, and if Mary catches sight of it – you can assume the following: the other Molinaris will disappear. Because what you saw on that tape is exactly what Mary Reineke wants — insists — that Gino be.'

It was an extraordinary thought. Eric wondered if Gino was aware of this aspect of the situation; if so, it might explain why he had waited so long to employ this tactic.

'I wonder,' he said to Festenburg, 'how the sick Gino, whom we know, could be a robant, in view of Mary Reineke's existence.'

'How so? Why not?'

'To put it in delicate terms ... wouldn't Mary be somewhat peeved by being the mistress of a product of GRS Enterprises?'

'I'm getting tired, doctor,' Festenburg said. 'Let's write finis to this discussion – you go and fix up your swinkly new conapt which they've donated to you for your loyal services here at Cheyenne.' He moved toward the door; the two top-position Secret Service men stepped aside.

Eric said, 'I'll give you one opinion of my own. Having met Gino Molinari I refuse to believe GRS could construct something so human and—'

'But you haven't met the one they filmed,' Festenburg said quietly. 'It's interesting, doctor. By drawing on himself from the alternates contained in the mishmash of time Gino may have collected an ensemble capable of facing the ally. Three or four Gino Molinaris, forming a committee, would be rather formidable... don't you agree? Think of the combined ingenuity; think of the harebrained, clever, wild schemes they could hatch up working collectively.' As he opened the door he added, 'You've met the sick one and glimpsed the well one – weren't you impressed?'

'Yes,' Eric admitted.

'Would you now vote with those who want to see him sacked? And yet when you try to pin down what he's actually done that's so impressive – it isn't there. If we were winning the war, or forcing back Lilistar's investment of our planet... but we're not. So what is it specifically, doctor, that Gino's done that so impresses you? Tell me.' He waited.

'I – guess I can't say specifically. But—'

A White House employee, a uniformed robant, appeared and confronted Eric Sweetscent. 'Secretary Molinari has been looking for you, doctor. He's waiting to see you in his office; I'll lead the way.'

'Oops,' Festenburg said, chagrined and all at once quite nervous. 'Evidently I kept you too long.'

Without a further exchange Eric followed the robant up the corridor to the elevator. This was probably important; he had that intuition.

In his office Molinari sat in a wheel chair, a blanket over his lap, his face gray and sunken. 'Where were you?' he said, as Eric came into sight. 'Well, it doesn't matter; listen, doctor – 'Starmen have called a conference and I want you to be with me while I attend. I want you to be on hand constantly, just in case. I'm not feeling well and I wish this damn get-together could be avoided or at least postponed for a few weeks. But they insist.' He began to wheel himself from the office. 'Come on. It's going to start any time.'

'I met Don Festenburg.'

'Brilliant rat, isn't he? I put complete faith in our eventual success in him. What did he show you?'

It seemed unreasonable to tell Molinari that he had been viewing his corpse, especially in view of the fact that the man had just now said he did not feel well. So Eric merely said, 'He took me around the building.'

'Festenburg has the run of the place – because of the trust I put in him.' At a bend in the corridor a gang of stenographers, translators, State Department officials, and armed guards met Molinari; his wheel chair disappeared into the corporate body and did not reappear. Eric, however, could still hear him talking away, explaining what lay ahead. 'Freneksy is here. So this is going to be rough. I have an idea what they want, but we'll have to wait and see. Better not to anticipate; that way you do their work for them, you sort of turn on yourself and do yourself in.'

Freneksy, Eric thought with a sensation of dread. Lilistar's Prime Minister, here personally on Terra.